The Beige Power Ranger
by springburn
Summary: A fic prompt from @petersgal...thank you. Ollie Reeder gets his come-uppance...


A lovely prompt. Thank you. I always get ridiculously excited when I get a prompt!

This story is set after my Dignity story in which Sam's brother realises that the photo of Malcolm with the Tickel numbers has been digitally altered. It is slightly earlier than my New Horizons story, when Malcolm and Sam have escaped to Italy.

A crucial scene, I feel, here is Season Four, the final episode of TTOI. Where Malcolm and Ollie are in the office together, and he talks about Ollie wanting his job...it's at the time of the 'no friends, no kids...' speech. Following which, he goes to resign and Ollie sends the press core after him...he just had too much glee on his face at that moment...the little rat!...

THE BEIGE POWER RANGER.

Malcolm's eyes opened with a jolt. Something had woken him. A shout? A cry?

No. It came from himself. He turned his face to the side. Sam's tousled head on the pillow beside him. She stirred, making a contented little noise, and turned over.

Malcolm pushed back the sheet, which was all that covered him, and slid out of bed. Careful not to wake her. Reaching for a thin cotton robe, he wrapped himself and padded towards the kitchen, quietly.

It was not yet light. Warm balmy air ruffled the muslin drapes through the open window.

Coffee mug in hand, he pushed open the door and stepped out onto the wooden verandah. The sky was beginning to pale from the east. Stratus clouds streaked above him, tinged with a faint yellow. He sat down on a wicker chair and sighed. Would he ever be able to sleep through the night? Would there ever be a time when a bad dream didn't wake him or he was up before dawn?

From the porch the ground sloped away beneath him, down towards the sea, some quarter of a mile away, it shimmered in the slowly growing light. Velvet dark changing to paler blue as the sun's rays began to colour the palate.

Rows of cypress trees marked the vague line of the road, like sentinels standing guard.

He ran a hand over his head, scratched his scalp, sipped the hot, black liquid, and tried not to think.

A sound behind him. Arms around his neck, crossed in front of him, by his collarbone. A soft cheek, pressed against his own, a kiss on his neck. The smell of her, so delicious.

"I woke and you'd gone..."

"Sorry Darl, I tried not to disturb you."

Sam crossed in front of him and lowered herself onto his lap. Legs dangling over the side of the chair, arms still around him. He clasped her around the waist. Intoxicating.

"It's real you know...it is real."

"Trying to believe it, yeah? Want to..."

She kissed him warmly, he tasted of coffee.

"Come back to bed..."

Oliver Reeder stretched out his legs and put his feet on the desk. Malcolm's desk.

His desk now.

A smile of satisfaction played on his lips. The image of Malcolm running from the press core at Brentford Police Station, made him nearly wet himself with delight.

That'll teach him. All the rollockings he'd received over the years. All the tirades.

It was payback time.

Relaxed, he watched the office television as Malcolm's resignation was announced from Hackney. There was something about his former boss's face, something he'd never witnessed before. Defeat.

Dan Miller entered.

"Hail, my new Chief Media Advisor to the Opposition." He said.

Ollie, swung on the swivel chair and faced him, clicking the TV off with the remote control.

"Yay! And good riddance to Mr Goebbels from Gorbals!" He laughed.

Grab a quick sandwich, and can of coke. Run from office to office, chasing people up constantly. Why didn't these idiots do their jobs? The jobs they were paid to do?

Sixteen hour days, he hadn't seen his flat for three nights. Food? What was that? He didn't have time to eat.

Yet another shit storm to mop up. How in God's name had Tucker kept this up all those years?

No wonder he used to shout and rant and swear!

Ollie was at the end of his tether.

Miller was becoming disenchanted with him. Trouble was he had no one to rely on, no back up. Suddenly the buck stopped here. The media were a pack of hyenas. The incompetence of all those around him, both civil servant and politician, never ceased to amaze him.

Bloody hell, he needed to sleep. He felt dizzy with weariness.

Two months of this and he was taking gaviscon for heartburn and needed sleeping pills at night.

Text from Russell Brewer...

 _"Ollie,_

 _Something's going down. Call from The Mail. Investigation into evidence at Goolding. What's going on?"_

 _Russ."_

Shit!

Reeder picked up the phone. But he didn't have the gravitas of Malcolm Tucker. Or the respect. He could glean nothing.

He flicked on the News.

Nothing.

Miller stormed into his office. Flinging a memo onto his desk.

"What the fuck is going on Reeder?"

"Dan, I'm as out of the loop as you are, I've no idea."

"There are rumours flying around all over the place. An investigation is being called for. New evidence, possible fraud. It's that fucker Tucker. If there's any shit flying Ollie, you had better be coated with olive oil, so that none of it sticks...you hear me?"

"Absolutely, Dan, I'm squeaky clean. Never fear."

Text from Russell Brewer...

 _"Ollie,_

 _Fraud Squad have been here, impounding computers and hard drives. I'm shitting bricks!_

 _What the fuck do I do?_

 _Russ._ "

 _"Russ,_

 _Stop fucking texting me for a start, you twat. I'll meet you._

 _Ollie."_

Fuck it. Shit just got real.

Could they actually connect Brewer to him? He didn't think so, but he couldn't be sure.

What the hell had happened? They'd been so thorough.

They thought.

It was pouring with rain. Ollie was in the Courtroom early. What a bloody mess. Brewer had been singing like a canary. He'd refrained from mentioning Ollie's name, but everyone knew they were close friends at Oxford. Saw a lot of each other.

The police had taken his mobile phone. Retrieved the deleted text messages. It was going to require some serious wriggling to get out of that one, when questioned. Not damning it's true, but pretty fricking uncomfortable.

People were arriving. Filing in. Taking their seats.

Glenn Cullen, who shot Ollie a hard narrowed glance as he moved along the row.

Then Malcolm.

God above! He looked so different. Reeder stared in disbelief. No vampiric pallor, hair longer and slightly curly, softer, less severe. Svelte, not gaunt. Hollow cheeks gone. His arm protectively around his wife, hand resting on the small of her back.

Sam...radiant, newly delivered of a baby, but looking sensational. He'd always thought her rather ordinary, but fuck...she glowed.

Neither of them looked his way, thank God!

His turn to testify. Passing within two feet of Tucker...

"Wanker!"

Under his breath, Ollie heard it distinctly. Saw Sam grip his hand and look at him. Right into his soul. Pure love. Fuck, no one had ever looked at him like that. Ever.

He ducked and dived, he bobbed and weaved. He evaded the questions, deflected them, cheeks flushed, as if he'd rouged them, sweat on his temples.

They really didn't have enough on him, and he knew it, all he had to do was keep his cool.

It was a relief when the prosecution said,

"No more questions." And he could resume his seat.

Brewer was guilty. Guilty as fuck. He received a custodial sentence.

Everyone in that courtroom knew that he hadn't acted alone. Being thumped and sent packing for messing with Tucker's PA was the lamest reason imaginable for wanting to bring the man down. He knew it. Everyone knew it.

Reeder slunk away.

Later he watched Malcolm on TV, reading his statement on the steps outside the court:

 _"Today, marks the end of almost two years of living under the shadow of the Goolding Enquiry's repercussions. My only wish now, is to move on with my life and enjoy time with my wife, who has been an unfailing support, and my new baby. I have nothing further to add. Thank you."_

The following Monday, Dan Miller entered his office without knocking.

He placed an envelope in Ollie's hand.

"This is your resignation letter, Oliver. The sooner you sign it, the sooner we can release a statement to say that following the investigation, you feel your time in the Civil Service is over and you'll be leaving to search for pastures new...

My desk, before five o'clock."

He left before Ollie could say a word.

Malcolm had seen no newspapers for days. Hadn't checked his phone. Didn't want to.

Sam bought lunch out onto the porch in the shade. Delicious bread, and olive oil, pasta, Parmesan. A chilled glass of wine.

She set them down, trailing a hand over her husband's cheek as she walked back inside.

Returning she handed him his laptop.

"You have an email from Glenn," she said.

She bent over him as he opened it.

Glenn's header was:

 _ **"Demise of the Beige Power Ranger."**_

 _"Today saw the resignation of Mr Oliver Reeder, successor to Malcolm Tucker as Chief Media Advisor to the Opposition. Mr Reeder cites his reason for leaving as 'moving on to pastures new' but it is thought his position has become untenable since recent revelations in the fraud case that followed last years Goolding Inquiry..."_

Sam took the lap top from him and laid it aside. She went back into the villa.

Malcolm stared out over the Italian landscape. The sun was bright, the breeze just enough to take the edge off it's heat. A single bird flew languidly overhead.

Malcolm swallowed thickly, his thoughts returning to that last day, when he'd been in his office with Ollie, before he'd gone to hand himself in at the Police Station.

A movement behind him made him look up sharply. Sam came onto the verandah and laid his baby son in his lap, along his thighs, little feet pressing against his stomach.

She didn't say a word, just laid him there and walked away.

Malcolm looked down at the little pink face, it's eyes tightly closed...lips moving as if suckling an invisible teat. A tiny hand clenched around his index finger. The fuzz of fluff on top of his head, like a duckling. The child stretched and made a small mewling sound, before sinking back into slumber again. This little person needed him, relied on him totally, for everything, completely helpless. Malcolm had never been totally needed and wanted before, in his whole life. Never. But he was now.

Malcolm forgot about Reeder. He'd got his comeuppance. Fuck him.

Malcolm had all this.


End file.
